


Don't Say a Word

by argle_fraster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Fix-it, Episode Related, Episode: s14e20 Moriah, Gen, M/M, Truth Spells, so many expletives, you will pry emphasis italics out of my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 02:26:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18651022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argle_fraster/pseuds/argle_fraster
Summary: So, that’s the worst of it then; Dean is stuck in the white-washed meeting room of a yuppie new-age company that endorses hoverboards, he can’t lie, and Cas just walked in with Chuck trailing behind him, a shit-eating grin splitting his face. If Dean just keeps his mouth shut for once in his life, maybe they’ll all get out of this with minimal emotional scarring.Maybe.





	Don't Say a Word

**Author's Note:**

> idk y'all i just feel like they dropped the ball with that truth scene and bailing early, but anything they said still feels like it needs to be coated in half-truths and avoiding the elephant in the room. this happened. episode insertion fic? idk what to call that, honestly.

“Cas, what the hell are you doing here?”

So, that’s the worst of it then; Dean is stuck in the white-washed meeting room of a yuppie new-age company that endorses hoverboards, he can’t lie, and Cas just walked in with Chuck trailing behind him, a shit-eating grin splitting his face. If Dean just keeps his mouth shut for once in his life, maybe they’ll all get out of this with minimal emotional scarring.

Maybe.

Cas goes across the room to Sam’s side, like Sam is easier to deal with, like Sam hasn’t personally betrayed him, and fuck that, honestly. Jack’s gone nuclear, and they’ve been around this block before. You don’t get to save people that far gone. You don’t get to save people who snapped your mother out of existence like it was nothing, like _she_ was nothing.

His mother’s death throbs, but it’s the sort of gaping hole Dean was always used to, and skirting around the edges has come naturally since the second grade. He can shut it down, lock it up, and keep the whole thing far away from the task at hand–-or at least he could before Jack had cursed the whole damn world to rattle truths out from between everyone’s teeth.

Dean’s jaw clenches involuntarily, and he’s only half-listening to the conversation around him.

“Dean,” Sam says, and then again, with more force, “ _Dean_ ,” and by the tone, it’s the fourth or fifth time he’s tried while Dean’s been zoning out in his own self-preservation haze.

“What?” Dean barks. Whatever Sam had wanted, it’s not as important, not as imperative and immediate as the noose around their necks. It’d been funny when the internet couldn’t lie. It’d summoned a smile to his face despite it all, despite Jack, despite his mom, to see the comments under the internet posts devolve into truthful declarations: _I live in squallor! I’m a nazi! I hate the gays!_

Now, though–this shit isn’t funny anymore. It’s dangerous, and it’s sharp edges, and it’s glaring at him from across the table like Dean’s the one responsible for the mess they’re in. Fuck.

“Fix it,” he demands, to Chuck, who just beams at him. “Fix all of this.”

“What’s the matter?” Chuck asks. “Not a fan of the truth?”

Dean’s knuckles turn white against the table, just like the bare bleached wall behind him. “Get us out of here and fix this.”

“What’s more important is that we find Jack,” Cas says.

“Shut up,” Dean snaps, and he didn’t mean it to come out that harsh, he swears he didn’t, but before he can stop himself, he’s pointing a finger at Cas like the perp in a lineup. “I can’t deal with you right now.”

 _Fuck._ That’s not a lie.

“Well, you’re going to have to ‘deal with me’,” Cas says, with those stupid finger-quotes and everything, even as his eyes get dark with rage and loathing and all the things he never seems to put into words but sears into Dean’s soul with those damn eyes, “because _you_ two are the reason he’s out there doing this.”

“Dean, it’s not Cas’ fault,” Sam starts, but no, Dean’s not dealing with that. Not here, not now, not while Jack’s spell is tangling his tongue against the roof of his mouth each time he tries to deflect.

“He didn’t tell us,” Dean says. “He kept important things from us.”

Cas’ eyes flash again. “As if you’ve never done the same.”

Dean desperately wants to be anywhere else. The conference, that stupid, sterile conference room that probably has three routers all blasting superspeed wi-fi, crushes down on him as though the walls are rapidly closing in. He tugs at his tie, at his collar, and can’t get his fingers down far enough to loosen the chokehold.

“Are we doing this then, Cas?” he asks. “Are we doing this now, here?”

“Where else can we do it?” Cas shoots back. “We haven’t actually spoken in days!”

Dean throws his hands out to either side. “We spoke not even an hour ago in the bunker!”

“You know what I mean, Dean,” and fuck, _fuck_ , of course that’s not a lie.

“Well, sometimes, I can’t talk to you!” Dean says. Was that what he meant to say? No, no, that wasn’t what he meant to say; hopeless, his tongue runs along the backside of his teeth. “And I definitely don’t wanna to do it here–-”

“Why not?” Cas asks, head tilted in a challenge. “Because there are things you don’t want to say?”

It’s a punch in the gut, that’s what it is, and Dean’s shoulders collapse on themselves just enough to pull his jacket taut. “Because there are things I don’t wanna say.”

“Like what?” Cas asks.

Sam moves, like he’s trying to help, caught in the middle of a damn standoff, and Chuck raises a hand in a lazy sort of wave. Sam slams back down onto his chair, eyes wide.

“Like I hate it when we fight!” Dean shouts. _Fuck._ “Fuck, this is awful.”

He puts a hand to his face, fingertips trailing across his eyebrows, as Cas says, “Do you think I enjoy it any more than you, Dean?”

“Well, we do it often enough.”

“That’s because each time something goes wrong, you shut down and immediately jump into being defensive!”

That isn’t a lie. Dean’s pissed as hell, cheeks hot, but god damn, he can’t do this now. His mom’s too fresh, too open–-the wound isn’t closed, hasn’t scabbed over, hasn’t gotten to the point again where Dean can maneuver around it safely. He’s dragging his heels over a minefield, and Jack’s stupid spell is tugging him right through the middle. He scrambles for something, anything–-

“And every time something goes wrong, you _leave_.”

Silence falls over the room. Cas stares at him, eyes blue and dark and wide and angry, and Dean’s bristling, but that was true. All of it’s true. Laid before them, it seems stupid, but wading through that’s a bitch.

“I’m not always sure I’m welcome, Dean.”

“Fuck that,” Dean spits. “You’re family. See? I said that, so it’s not a lie. You know it’s true; you’re _family._ ”

Cas’ gaze finally wavers and pulls away. He hunches over, drooping shoulders spread wider beneath that damn coat, and stares at the blank wall. “I don’t want that like you mean it, Dean.”

Sam’s face has twisted, gone strange, and Chuck’s got an expression like a cat that caught the canary, and Dean should leave it alone. _Leave it alone._

“You don’t know how I mean it,” he says instead, because–- _fuck._

Cas’ eyes snap up, lock on Dean’s, and shit, shit, this is terrible, this is awful; Dean can’t take it back, can’t swallow it back up and pin it down, stomp it into submission.

A stapler crashes through the frosted windows, his salvation, a damn stapler of all things, and Chuck throws his hands up as all of them instinctively duck away from the blast of glass.

“Okay,” Chuck concedes, and holds his hands up poised to snap, “that’s enough.”

##

In the bunker, lies swell up on Dean’s tongue again, easy and dripping, and he says one, and then another just to prove he can. He’d never really thought about what his life would be like without the lies he clings to, and having been stripped bare, falling back into the shield is heavenly. They can sidestep around the rest as Chuck blathers and preens, proud of himself and the damage Jack’s done somehow, but Cas keeps staring at Dean with that unblinking gaze, and Dean feels just as exposed as he did without his pretenses back in the conference room.

Chuck’s gun lies on the map, in the middle of the table, taunting them all. Dean reaches for it just to have something to do, cocks it and looks at the hinges, the barrel, the silver and the etchings sliding down the handle.

“Don’t do this,” Cas says, voice low and menacing. “He can be saved. We can save him.”

“There’s no other way,” Dean replies.

Cas approaches, rounds the table like he’s heading into a firefight with all his weight behind him. “You said we were family.”

“We were.” _Emphasis_ , there, and it’s not missed. Cas’ expression twitches, though Dean can’t read what’s lying beneath and doesn’t trust himself enough to keep searching. His eyes fall back to the gun in his palm.

“You said I didn’t know what you meant,” Cas says.

“Don’t.” Dean shakes his head. “Don’t start.”

“Will you lie?”

Dean huffs out a mirthless laugh. “Why not? We can now, remember?”

“What did you mean?”

The gun clatters down back onto the map and Dean sighs, dragging his hands over his face. They have a fucking _audience_ ; he can’t do this. “You know what I meant.”

“Rarely,” Cas replies, a blip of sardonic humor learned too little, too late. “You said I was dead to you.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

Cas tilts his head to one side. “Are you lying now?”

“Fuck off, Cas. You know I’m not.”

“We’re going to talk about this later,” Cas warns.

Later, later; later when Dean’s _dead_ , later? Later when the gun drags them both into some shitty afterlife special? Cas doesn’t specify, and neither does Dean. The truth isn’t tugging at his tongue trying to break free any more. Instead, the whole thing just tastes like ash.

Cas leans in, glaring like he always does when he’s riled up. “I’m going to save him, Dean.”

“‘S no saving him now,” Dean says, and it comes out so much weaker than he’d intended.

“That’s always been your problem,” Cas tells him. He moves away, and his absence cuts like a damn knife. “You’ve never had faith.”

After he leaves, Dean picks the gun back up, and the metal in his hands is the only thing that doesn’t burn. _Fuck._

**Author's Note:**

> come scream with me in capslock on [tumblr](https://aerodaltonimperial.tumblr.com/)


End file.
